


In the Gap Between

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Super
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Biology being exploited at the cost of the person who owns the body, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Hypocrisy, I Don't Even Know, I barely edited this, I use Zamas instead of Zamasu because the latter makes me giggle for personal reasons, M/M, Mirai Needs A Hug, Mirai Trunks | Future Trunks Timeline, Not Beta Read, OH GOD WHY, Other, Rape as Torture, Shit goes down, Torture, Trunks Whump, Victim Blaming, Violent Sex, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, What-If, Zamas talking too much, basically just porn, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It's always that little gap between one thing and another where the worst things fall. Where the dirt builds up, where the grit accumulates, where the ants crawl, where you forget what you were supposed to be doing.It's where the nightmares start. Where the worst things fall.





	In the Gap Between

If you’re looking for a full story, look away. This is not a story. It’s the chapter that got censored from the book by the editors.

It’s a chapter of one of the darkest moments in the life of a young man. It’s not the defining moment of his life, not the worst pain he’s ever suffered through, though it’s somewhere in the top five. It’s cruelty, a needless act of torture that you might need to know about in order to understand this young man, but you don’t need to see.

Whether you see it or not won’t change the fact that it happened. You may continue if you wish, for some sick bile fascination or indescribable need or another reason you may find difficult or shameful to explain. I will not judge you. God knows I am the same.

Are you sure you want to continue?

Then read on.

Because this chapter begins the way everything in Trunks’ life began.

With hatred and blood chasing away the kind and the vulnerable. And a declaration of, “I am your opponent!”

For all his bravado and courage, Trunks didn’t stand a chance against the two versions of Zamas. Buying enough time for Goku and his parents to flee was possible only because it took very little time. Despite Blacks calm demeanor it was clear that Trunks had pissed him off.

The two wasted no time, one attacking in front and the other from behind. Trunks dodged the first few blows, but one of them jumped to the side while the other kept him occupied, setting up a headshot that hit him dead on.

Stunned, he couldn’t move in time to avoid them kneeing him in perfect unison. Then one cuffed his neck, the other punched his gut. A kick to the knee bent it at an unnatural angle. He gagged and started to spew, but was cut off by another blow to the face.

He fell, and the two charged another dual-attack. This one he dodged. The next one he didn’t.

On and on the two rained down blows, Trunks barely getting in a counter-attack. He struck Zamas once, elbowed Goku Black in the neck, but it was nothing compared to the beating they were giving him.

Trunks felt something snap in his chest, three of his ribs breaking. It felt like one of them might have pierced a lung, and he screamed in agony.

Finally, they stopped. Two gods watching him lying on the ground, gold hair turning blue, struggling to regain his breath through the pain. Pitiful in their eyes. 

Zamas sighed in exasperation. “How foolish. To continue to fight when you know the blame for this is all on yourself. We told you as much, didn’t we?”

It hurt to hear this, even if he knew it was nothing more than an excuse to Zamas. Knowing the role he’d played in the destruction of the world- but this was not the time. Now he needed to be strong, he had to refuse to let them beat him.

He could barely move. He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t defend his body, only defend his reason to keep fighting.

“I’m not going to listen to someone who can’t- can’t even fight without the power of a mortal.” He glared at them, “It’s pathetic. How you can still preach your godly superiority when you can’t even carry out your mission without the power of a mortal.”

Zamas sneered, but Black remained stoic and Trunks felt an urge to hurt him. He wanted these two to see that they were wrong, and to suffer for it. “If our power is a blessing, why didn’t the gods get it instead of us mortals?”

To his schadenfreude, throwing their words against them did the trick. At least for Zamas, who flinched back as though he’d been hit. “That- that was a mistake! Just like you mortals-”

“You should go.” Black remained calm, but kept his eyes on Trunks as he spoke to his partner. 

Zamas was slightly more reactive. “But-”

“It’s alright.” Trunks met Blacks’ eyes and saw the rage in them. From losing Goku, to his distate at the semi-transformation Trunks had accomplished, to his words just moments before, all of it had struck a nerve. Black had just been hiding it better, letting it boil and fester inside.

What Trunks had said was just the straw on the camel’s back- the reminder that Goku Black’s very existence was contradictory to his claims.

“I’ll be back soon. There are a few things I think he and I need to set straight.” Trunks couldn’t watch Zamas’ reactions while holding Black’s gaze. He noticed Zamas leave and that was it.

Once his partner was gone Black floated to the ground, maintaining eye contact with Trunks. Despite the rage in his eyes, his face remained calm. A picture of dull boredom, as though he’d found something mildly interesting in the middle of a tedious wait and was only paying attention to kill time.

It wasn’t the usual amusement Black showed when facing Trunks, so he labeled the expression as a deliberate mask of indifference and counted it as a win.

The haughty, imperious air of superiority that always accompanied Black remained, though now it seemed more natural. Whereas before Black had been pressing his superiority upon Trunks with every breath now there was no competition between them- the fact that Trunks was the lesser party was so natural that there was no need for Black to push the point.

Black walked towards him, and crouched down next to Trunks. At this distance Trunks could take a better guess at the meaning behind Black’s body language.

He could see that alongside the egotism and disdain there was a pressing force of judgement in him. A force that neither burned nor rolled in, merely existed and let gravity push it down where it lay in its natural place.

After a moment of silent mutual study Black reached out, almost curious, to softly touch Trunks’ cheek. Trunks flinched away, so Black manhandled his chin to face him.

Trunks tried to push the hand away and to his surprise Black let him, moving onto his sword and the strap which tied it to his back. It wasn’t surprising when Black reached for the buckle but Trunks blocked his hand and threw a blast at his head.

Despite the close range, Black dodged and smashed Trunks’ head into the ground. There was no follow-up blow, just a moment of Black watching Trunks hiss in pain before undoing the buckle and tossing the sword some distance away.

When he regained his breath, Trunks glared at Black and found his tormentors’ eyes were no longer on his. Blacks’ hands were on Trunks’ neck, pulling his scarf off and tossing it away.

Then those hands pulled apart the folds apart on his jacket, inciting a moment of shock for Trunks as his shirt was stripped off. What was Black playing at, he wondered. Hands crossed his stomach and lingered, he tried unsuccessfully to bat them away as dread and denial sunk in.

The latter vanished once Black undid Trunks’ belt.

He tried to punch Black, using his other hand to sit himself up, but Black caught his fist and twisted his wrist. 

“So you think taking my victory is your success?” Black said. Trunks yanked his hand free and used the momentum to make an elbow strike, but Black got inside the blow too quickly. Grabbed his shoulder, pushed him back to the ground, used the other hand to strike him across the temple. His vision blacked out for a moment and his ears rang, Black’s voice incomprehensible to him until the static cleared.

Fight, some instinct whispered, and Trunks found that ignoring the pain of his earlier injuries became much easier in the face of this assault.

“…thout fighting? Give up and let your father fight your battles for you?” Trunks felt waistband around his knees before he saw it. He tried to pull his leg free and kick, but he didn't have the strength to move at the speeds he and Black were used to. His leg would have crushed the collarbone of any human assailant, but to Black it was little more than a fly bite.

Stop. Trunks tried to say. Just go. But wasn’t that the whole reason he was fighting in the first place? Because Black simply refused to leave them be?

The leg of his pants caught on his boots, so Black opted first to tug those off through the fabric. Trunks noted how the monster handled the shoes far more gently than Trunks himself. It wasn’t the shoes’ fault they belonged to a mortal, so why make them suffer for it? (Such a horribly accurate thought.)

“You’re wrong,” Black said in a tone that spoke of absolute control.

Trunks tried to him kick with his now-freed leg, tried to swing himself up. Black grabbed the offending leg and lunged so that he was on above Trunks, between his thighs, on top of him. Trunks felt it, saw it, knew it as it happened, yet some part of him felt detached from the situation. Focusing on anything and everything but the actions of the monster before him.

The hand that wasn’t pinioning his leg slammed Trunks back into the ground and Black moved with it, their bodies aligned one on top of the other and his knee pushed level with his chest. Their eyes met again, and Trunks realized that the unidentifiable element he saw in Black wasn’t desire or lust.

“You are so. Very. Wrong.” As he spoke Black took the hand that had been holding Trunks’ shoulder down and lightly pressed it to his face. He tenderly stroked a scab forming there in a mockery of affection.

That softness, that near-kindness felt more disturbing to Trunks than the violence or the stripping had. Black’s touch tingled on his cheek, that whisper of touch more prominent than his throbbing bruises and cuts. He’d lifted a hand in preparation to cuff Black’s ear, but the moment of softness threw Trunks off balance and his form was sloppy, the blow weak.

Black smiled at his captive, the man who both of them knew had only survived this long because Black wanted a human punching bag that didn’t fall apart easily. He shifted and rolled his hips, grinding their groins together the way flint struck steel.

And like flint and steel, Trunks could feel sparks light up between his legs. The feeling made his stomach flip, his heart skip a beat, and the fog in his head drain out as cold horror rolled in. He felt a sick, empty void begin to grow inside of him. With each roll, each burst of heat that enveloped his body was accompanied by a bucket of ice water filling up inside of him.

In that moment Trunks knew more clearly than ever before that he couldn’t be at Black’s mercy any longer.

Trunks lifted the hand he’d dropped and struck at Black’s ear. To his horror, he felt Black harden above him, having been unaroused and possibly as disgusted by Trunks as Trunks was by him. Black chuckled and stroked Trunks’ face, each touch heralding a wave of revulsion throughout the younger man’s body.

Then Black grabbed blue hair and smashed his head on the ground. The blow made his ears ring, but the pain died as the heat in his groin started to spread across his body, rolling down his limbs and up his neck and face. His dick jumped between his legs, hard and throbbing. In return the cold sickness also spread from his gut to his lungs and finally his heart, beating rapidly now from fear or arousal or both, beating so hard Trunks thought he’d be sick.

“Now let’s see,” Black joyfully said as he pushed himself up. Trunks watched in bleak, distant horror as Black pulled his cock out. Actually seeing the red, pulsating thing, that thing that should have belonged to Goku and Chi-Chi alone, helped the ice rise up and flush some of the burning desire away.

“No.” Trunks said.

“Yes.” Replied Black.

No, he thought, helpless.

Everything happened so fast- was happening so fast- his mind didn’t even register when Black shoved in. The thought Oh, it’s going in flitted briefly across his thoughts before he recognized the burning sensation in his-

Trunks gasped as a burst of heat pulsed in him and his whole body shuddered.

Oh. This was happening.

He didn’t realize when he powered up, somehow digging up some last, fledgling burst of Ki from his drained body enough to go blonde. He only recognized his forehead rammed into Black’s face, striking him hard enough to knock him back a little.

“NO!” Power rushing through his veins helped clear his head, returning to Trunks control over his own body. He twisted his thighs, trying to flip Black off or at least get away from him.

A fist slammed him Trunks in the chest, he could feel the burn of Ki around the hand that sent him sprawling back to the dirt. As the blow fell he felt the heat grow brighter, and the cold sickness snapped and expanded, rushing all over his body so that fire and ice were burning him together in unison.

That hateful, omniscient smirk Trunks had grown so accustomed to returned in full force, Trunks’ own scream reassuring Black of his superiority and power. 

“Pathetic fool.” Black squeezed one of his thighs hard enough to bruise, Trunks’ heart jumping and his stomach withering in response. The other hand grabbed his hands and pinned them above his head. Had Trunks just fired the Masenko? Wasn’t that supposed to (faze, distract, hurt) do something to his opponent?

Son Goku’s face still stared down upon his own, so Trunks had to conclude that no, he hadn’t. The man- monster- thing that took everything they’d work so hard to save from the androids and burned it all down again- smirked at him and shook violently as sparks danced in the younger man’s blood.

The face shook again and Trunks realized no, that was him shaking. Black was just shoving himself further in, Trunks writhing and screaming with every inch, heat and sickness accompanying each thrust.

One hand moved to stroke the captive’s cheek again, making Trunks’ stomach turn and his whole body shiver. This time the fingers didn’t stop there, but pressed into his open mouth, exploring and pushing deeper in until he gagged on them. Tasting Black’s hands, feeling their callouses rub against the sensitive skin of his tongue. Shamed, as Black finger-fucked his face knowing that the boy didn’t have the strength to stop them.

Somewhere nearby a building exploded and collapsed from another Masenko aimed entirely the wrong way.

On the next push something tore. As his body registered the pain his cock jumped, and his stomach dropped. He roared, enhanced lungs strong enough they could probably hear him back at the camp, almost pulling a wrist free.

Black just grinned and leered down at him, pushing in again.

On the fifth or sixth push, Black brushed against something in him that took all the heat Trunks loathed so dearly and engorged it, higher, stronger than Trunks thought possible.

He moaned, pleasure mixing with the icy humiliation and disgust for just one moment. That one sensation made his stomach turn, his skin crawl as his mind finally registered that yes, this was arousal. This violence that Black was inflicting on him felt- felt- good.

The heat died as quickly as it came and shame replaced it, eyes breaking out in tears as Black laughed. When it came down to it the pain, the humiliation, the sheer depravity of this monster apparently didn’t matter enough to keep Trunks from taking pleasure from Black’s actions.

“No…” He sobbed, body shaking as he closed his eyes and turned away.

It didn’t matter how hard he tried to shut down his body, Trunks still gasped in ecstasy as Black thrust again, brushing against that spot and slamming a hand into his throat. Even as he coughed and choked, that overreaching heat engulfed his body.

It didn’t matter who Black was or what he’d done, he’d still surrendered complete control over to him. A little fucking and Trunks was no better than putty in the monster’s hands, moaning and shaking for him. Fighting for him. Dying for him.

Too weak to stop him.

“Yes.” Son Goku’s voice said.

Trunks used his free hand to strike, trying desperately to claw out Black’s eye. He was too slow, even in this form he hadn’t recovered enough air to make any damage. Nonetheless Black let his hand make contact and allowed Trunks to futilely scratch and hit him.

“Pathetic,” Black hissed, pushing in farther and making Trunks throw his own head back, “you can reach for the moon, but you will never have the power to get there.” A rock, a scream, and Trunks was sobbing.

By this point there was far less pain from the coupling itself, as friction between Black’s dick and Trunks’ asshole had lessened with something wet easing the way. Trunks couldn’t tell if it was blood or pre-come or both or something entirely new.

Another push, another moan, another swell of shame and Trunks had taken all of Black’s length inside of him. The half-breed received a slap and a short lecture on respect when he bodily tried to shove Black off at the hips. You don’t touch me, I touch you was what it boiled down to underneath the flowery pretense about divinity and worms.

“You’re just a mistake, as brutish and vile as any other mortal.” The monster grinned as he bottomed out again. Trunks unleashed a burst of Ki powerful enough to crack the ground and blow away the debris around them, but the weight on top of him didn't falter.

The pain changed when Black pulled out, leaving Trunks aching in the places where he’d been. A burning scar inside of him where the memory of pain lingered. His hole ached and seized, his dick throbbed and drooled, his body aching and begging for more cock.

The wetness remained, and Trunks felt the fluids trickle out of him. It lasted less than a second before Gok- Black thrust back in.

He might have screamed again. He knew he cried. He could feel the ground beneath him shake and crack under the strain of his own Ki, but all his struggling was for naught. He lashed out, burned out, cursed Black and himself, to no avail.

Pre-come dribbled from his own dick, hard and aching.

The monsters’ hand left his wrist to wrap around his throat. As it squeezed down, choking the air out of him, his body lit up in flames and he had only enough time to pray Black would break his neck before ecstasy overwhelmed him.

With each thrust, his body burned. Again and again, in and out, relentless and humiliating and hot and unyielding.

One thing about Saiyan physiology is that they keep fighting long after anyone else would have given up. It had been a boon to Trunks until then. No matter how he fought, Black kept moving faster and faster inside of him, only breaking rhythm to smack him if his protests got too disruptive.

But it wasn’t enough to make him stop. It was never enough to make him stop.

“You call yourself a warrior, you think you have power?” Black laughed (giggled, fucking fucked and giggled) at him. “Please. If you can’t even protect yourself, how are you supposed to protect anyone else? Who’s going to save the other little mortals from their own mistakes?”

The monster bent over, switching from rough thrusts to small rolling circles so he could whisper more secrets (truths, truths, truth) in Trunks’ ear.

He felt his power drain and realized he’d fallen out of his ascended form. It made Black go even faster, harder- or more likely, he’d already been going this rough, and Trunks only now could feel the savagery for what it was. Looking at Son Goku’s face felt even more sickening now, so he shut his eyes.

“No one. No one is going to protect you from your own mistakes. You and your kind burned, ravaged, and destroyed worlds, Saiyan, and now you and these parasites are going to get what you deserve for it.

“The other mortals are gone- I’ve burned every planet in this timeline clean of all filth, scorched the infestation to save the world. The gods won’t intervene- they never should have protected you in the first place.”

Something wet and rough trailed across his cheek; Trunks could have sworn that Black just licked the tears off his face. But when he opened his eye (when had one of them swollen shut) Black was leaning back.

“What you’re feeling now is justice.”

Trunks could only stare and gasp, more shocked than confused when the monster pulled out and drew back entirely. He felt like the ground was pulled out under him and leaving him in freefall, dizzy and empty in so many ways.

The pain echoed, overlapped with the aches, as he struggled to avoid thinking too deeply about anything Black had to say. Sensations keeping him rooted, trapped so his own skin felt more like a prison than part of himself.

Black looked over his handiwork and scowled to see his cock covered in a film of some shiny fluid, spread unevenly and thicker close to the tip where it dripped off, some of it already smeared onto his pants. He sneered at Trunks, and Trunks imagined Black was blaming him for having the audacity to stain his ‘divine’ form with his filthy mortal blood.

“This is proof- proof that there must be justice for the universe you and your ilk have destroyed- justice for holding back progress and preventing paradise from becoming a reality. Justice for the mortal sin you and your mother committed. Justice for your father’s actions and the sins of your ancestors.”

Black sneered and grabbed Trunks by his hips, flipping him over. One warrior dominating another (could he really call himself a warrior after)-

Trunks hissed as the dirt rubbed into the open wounds on his chest. He tried to find purchase against the ground, anything to escape this humiliation, but he lacked the strength and the hands above him held him like iron.

There were bruises already forming on his wrists where Black had held him earlier.

Then Black slammed his face into the dirt and his face tingled with pleasure, the dirt below him rubbing the sweat-stained skin on his brow and open wounds, sending spider-web tingles of sensation where the grit rubbed against flesh and blood. Making his cock jump, making his need to vomit rise.

Behind him the monster pulled Trunks’ torso back to push his chest against his knees. The wetness dripped from his entrance onto the dirt, and as Black took his place behind Trunks he realized something he should have known long ago.

This was a battle Trunks could not win. His only hope- the only reason he was still alive- was because the psychopath wearing Son Goku’s face chose to spare him.

When everything he was, everything he loved was in the hands of a monster, what did his own pride matter? Not much. (Then what did he matter, if he couldn’t do the one thing everyone needed him to?)

(What good is a savior who can’t win a fight?)

He was salivating so much he couldn’t swallow, so he spat instead.

“Please…” He was already on the ground, but he bowed his head anyways to brokenly grovel. To his surprise Black stopped moving, watching Trunks shame himself even further.

“Of course it should come as no surprise that you go so far as to beg.” Disgust echoed in Black’s voice, so clear Trunks wondered if he’d sickened Black so much he’d lose his arousal and just kill him.

That brief hope was dashed as Black thrust in, claiming his victim’s body and pushing his entire length in, in one stroke. This time, Trunks didn’t feel like there were sparks lighting up inside of him.

This time, there were stars.

He screamed, tried so hard to tamper down that scream and then screamed anyways when Black rapidly pulled out and pushed back in. Clawed at the ground, let waves of Ki ripple from him and ascended back into Super Saiyan form.

“I’ve seen monkeys like you rut against demons for a chance at real power.”

Behind him he sensed Black’s Ki rise in a way that let him know the monster had ascended to Super Saiyan Rose, and he felt the difference in the strength and speed of his thrusts. Stars turned to supernovas, bursting in front of his eyes and around him over and over.

“Gain bodies with more strength than any mortal has a right to, won through trickery and whoring.”

With every thrust Trunks shook and gasped- raw pleasure becoming his world for just a few seconds at a time, over and over.

Icy shame and humiliation filling the gaps between ecstasy, becoming shorter and sharper as his body took longer and longer to abandon his struggles against euphoria.

“Seen them murder and rut and howl and move on when there’s no one-” Black gasped in ecstasy, “-no one left to smash, persisting and dragging down every-” He grunted, then picked up where he left off, “-thing around you all to prove which one is the strongest.”

His insides were overflowing with something smoother and slicker than blood, but he didn’t care. It made Black’s cock feel stronger and silkier inside him, but he didn’t have it in him to hate it.

Just himself.

“Your so-called strength is- nothing, with or without the power of the- the gods backing you up.”

Black was squeezing him, crushing him with each forward motion, and it made Trunks gasp in bliss.

(why aren’t you stopping this)

“You’re just-” sharp hiss of pleasure “-a group of pretenders, clamoring at a prize that will never be yours.”

His hips lifted on their own accord, pushing back onto Black’s cock.

(stop doing that)

“Anything you might achieve is- meaningless in light of your mortality, and your savagery cements- your failure in all things good.”

His own cock trembled and ached, erect as it bounced between his spread thighs.

(don't encourage him don't encourage this)

“You know your ancestors- they thrived on this violence, don’t you?”

Something inside him was opening up, some part of his body unwillingly making room for this invasion.

(what are you doing to yourself)

“Do you- understand what I’m saying?”

Black tugged his hair. Forced his head back. Caught Trunks’ eyes. Didn’t seem to like what he saw.

(it’s not a fight anymore you know you don’t have it in you can’t challenge him)

“I’m saying that you’ve failed- as a warrior.”

A sick needy feeling (wantwantwant) every time the cock slid out of his body.

(weak so weak)

“Your body was made for- this. You were made- for this.”

Lips harshly pressed to his own, Trunks too wrecked to respond with a kiss or a bite.

(wanted to kiss her for almost a year now)

“Your ancestors- evolved to accommodate evil- instead of trying to fix it. Your race- you can’t even grow without- evil.”

(you think she’ll want you when she finds out?)

“Imperious- whore.”

A bright spot of fire, try to ignore it blazing blazing blazingblazingblazingblazing hothothot hotter and on fire and impossible to ignore/forget/pretend/lie-

He didn’t realize until much, much later that the piercing noise he heard when the fire burned away what was left of him was his own screaming.

He blacked out (he liked, likes to pretend he wasn’t conscious for the end of it) and came to the feeling of Black pulling out. Something wet, hot, and poisonous remaining inside of him.

Something thick and burning pushing onto and into that bright hot spot, like a hose on a hinged door. He felt something inside himself open up, sucking liquid in like a vacuum, pulling the filthy waste inside.

Every part of his body felt over-sensitive, every nerve shell-shocked and cooling down. He’d returned to his normal form sometime after his orgasm, and with that power gone his body felt drained and fragile- delicate, even.

He could distantly hear Black getting up, saying something to Trunks he couldn’t and didn’t care to focus on. The world started slipping away from him and he let it happen.

For the first time in his life, Trunks wished that he wouldn’t wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this idea… would not leave me alone.
> 
> Zamas is the ultimate hypocrite, and Goku Black is noticeably one of the few Dragon Ball villains who never has a Villainous Breakdown (unless you count merging with his other half), so I had this idea to deconstruct the VB trope by having the villain reassert themselves and crush the breakdown in its initial stages by crossing a line he wouldn’t have crossed if he wasn’t desperate to reassure himself of his philosophies at the time.
> 
> There’s some fanfiction artistic license taken here because… why not. The biggest one being an idea common in DB fanfic; for Saiyans to have violent mating habits to match their violent lifestyle. In this fic, vanilla sex for Saiyans is basically two people fighting, both participants feeling good because they just got hurt and then wanting to hit to other person in order to arouse them in return, with genitalia involved. Also, the whole thing with the lube. Because fucking fanfic cliche.
> 
> Where many humans lose their arousal when in pain, aroused Saiyans almost always become more aroused if they start feeling pain. Apart from some Saiyans who might be considered slightly kinky amongst their people, this effect doesn’t work in reverse- when aroused their brains release specific hormones that redirect pain receptors to pleasure. Here, I applied that concept as a way to make even more whump for Trunks; the physical pain aspect of the torture is contributing to the sexual aspect of the torture. Sexual machoism making a violent rape far, far worse for the victim. Which, for readers who don’t know, is something that can and does happen to people in real life- the only sci-fi element on that end is the presence of a fictional alien species.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Time After](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403986) by [xshinanix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xshinanix/pseuds/xshinanix)




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